


drown in the warmth of home

by novembrs



Category: Original Work
Genre: (though they are inspired by Hercule Flambeau and Father Brown), Anal Sex, Childhood Friends, Criminal & Priest Love Story, Father James Gilbert and Darius Fortier are My Original Characters that I Created, Fluff, Insulting Christianity, Love Confessions, M/M, Oral Sex, mention of injury and blood, since this takes place in the 1950s in England there's some homophobia but nothing major, this is the result of my love for old men falling in love and having some good old men sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:13:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24126430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novembrs/pseuds/novembrs
Summary: Notorious criminal of the French underworld Darius Fortier gets injured on a job and makes his escape to his hometown and the current residence of his childhood friend - Father Gilbert.As the Father takes Darius in to treat his wounds, certain aspects of their past are revealed and both men need to find the courage to face them.Characters inspired by Hercule Flambeau and Father Brown, though I still consider Fortier and Gilbert my original characters, as the only thing they have in common is the fact that they are a criminal and a priest.Title from Nothing Fades Like the Light by Orville Peck (obviously)
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	drown in the warmth of home

In the quiet Sunday afternoon sometime at the end of a particularly hot summer, a man found himself stumbling through the woods near a village. He knew it well as he grew up in it, using its narrow streets as hiding spots from his pursuers many times as a boy; though he was unsure if they would be enough now, over thirty years later. 

He squeezed his left side and winced in pain. He felt a warm liquid run down the back of his hand as he made his way through the fallen branches and tree trunks. It happened to be a day after a full day of raining in the region, so the ground under his feet was slippery and made it difficult to move with a steady pace. 

The man kept looking ahead up until that moment, but once he managed to slide towards a wide tree and hide behind it, he looked towards the path he just took. He didn´t see his pursuers, but it did not reassure him. He held his breath for a moment and listened. After a beat of silence, he heard a group of men frantically yelling at each other (they most likely separated the moment they entered the woods in pursuit). The man gritted his teeth and took of again.

He did not bother with taking cautious steps anymore; he was getting close to the village – his only chance of surviving the mess he has gotten himself into once again. He felt the ache of his wound slowly spread to the rest of his body and his vision has become blurry from the blood loss. How long has he been running for, exactly? It must have been minutes (ten, fifteen tops), but it felt like hours. 

The man squeezed his wound harder and although his body was almost at its limit, he sped up; slowing down was not an option. He did not know how long he would be able to run after he would exit the woods, but he was sure as Hell going to try.

Once he saw the first signs of structures behind the thick foliage, he took one last look over his shoulder to ensure that his pursuers were not near and grabbed onto a fallen over tree trunk, leaping through the air and falling left side first onto freshly cut grass. 

He saw the world in front of him turn black for a moment and almost yelled out in pain, but managed to compose himself enough to stand up, although he did manage to ram his shoulder into a carved stone near him while doing so. 

He blinked quickly a few times to rid himself of the dizziness and glanced at the stone he was leaning against. It only took him a short moment to realise it was a gravestone. He looked up and immediately recognised his surroundings. He was in a graveyard just outside the local church. 

He gritted his teeth once more in a failed attempt at a smile; what an irony that he would find himself there again after all those years. Perhaps it was a sign from God – if he was to bleed out from a wound caused by his own carelessness, he might as well do it in a church he did not step into for over thirty years. It would make a perfect image for his enemies and friends alike (though he doubted he had any) to share a laugh over: The image of the once great criminal, now an aged man who is unable to get away from an unsuccessful job unscathed. 

He managed to stand up slowly, stumbling towards the stone walls of the church. He was certain he heard the voices of his pursuers; they must have spotted him while he was jumping out of the woods into the graveyard. If he could only manage to get inside the church, hide amongst the pews or perhaps behind the altar itself. It was Sunday as well, was it not? Perhaps the local priest was holding mass at the moment and might let him find refuge in the back room where he usually prepares himself. 

The man let out a quiet cough which was meant to be a laugh – what a ridiculous thing to think about mere moments before the untreated scratch on his left side would turn fatal. Though he did hear that men tend to lose the control of their thoughts before they die. 

He grabbed onto the cool stone of the church as he slowly made his way around the corner towards the main entrance. He did not bother looking at his surroundings – the villagers tend to stick to the cool interior of their homes on a hot summer afternoon rather than wandering the streets. 

The sharp dusty air of the church felt like a fist had landed on his face as he entered the vestibule. The church was surprisingly almost entirely empty and a sense of relief overcame him when he spotted a figure standing by the confessional. 

He stumbled forward and knocked on the heavy wooded doors to notify the person of his arrival. The figure straightened and turned towards him. It was a man, a priest to be more exact, standing with a rusty copy of the Bible in his hands.

“Good afternoon, Father,” the man managed to grumble before dropping onto his knees. He squeezed his eyes shut at the sudden bolt of sharp pain in his abdomen. A good sign, he thought to himself as he opened his eyes again, seeing the priest run towards him. As long as he still felt pain, he would not lose consciousness. Perhaps the wound was not as deep and his fear of bleeding out was baseless. Now, if he only could find a place to hide.

“You're injured,” he heard the priest say and felt a set of arms around his shoulders. He found he had to fight a sudden urge to close his eyes and lean into the comforting touch; time and place, he told himself.

“You're in a need of medical attention,” the priest continued, “I will call the doctor-.”

“No,” the man groaned and stood up slowly. He found the priests eyes – light blue and round and wide in confusion. “I need to get to the confessional.”

“There will certainly be time for that later,” the priest said, the confusion on his face doubling and, perhaps, turning into frustration. “We must get you to a doctor.”

“Yes, quite,” he said through gritted teeth and held onto the priest's arm as he moved towards the wooden booth only a few feet away from them, “though I have an urgent confession to make and it needs to be done now.”

He felt the priest hesitate for just a short moment before an arm grabbed him around the shoulders and the priest led him to the confessional. 

The man groaned in pain as the priest sat him on the small (and frankly, rather uncomfortable) seat before disappearing and drawing the heavy purple curtain, leaving him in complete darkness. 

He leaned his head back and let out a sigh. He hoped this would be enough and the men following him would ultimately lose his track and move on to search the rest of the village. He did not know for how long he would be safe inside the church – or whether he would even survive for however long it would be – but the fact that he had managed to get in was enough for him, at least for the time being.

“Darius,” he heard the priest say from the compartment next to him. 

He felt himself smile and turned his head towards the latticed opening in the partition separating them. 

“Ah,” he said, “it has been a while since I was at confession. I must have forgotten how it begins.”

“That's quite alright,” the priest said and he could sense what could only be impatience in his voice. He must have been itching to get help for Darius as soon as possible which did flatter him, he must admit. 

“Oh, don't you worry,” Darius said, grinning, “I've already managed to run here through the woods. I probably won't die so soon.”

“You won't die because I will get you to the doctor, Darius.”

Darius snorted, but did not say anything. After a while, he spoke again.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been…” he had to stop and think for a moment, “…thirty-two years since my last confession.”

The priest in the other compartment waited silently for Darius to continue, though he could sense his impatience and frustration.

“I will not bore you with a list of my past sins – which is quite lengthy, I must say – but I will admit to my most recent one,” he felt a sudden piercing pain in his abdomen, similar to the one he felt before, though it was far more intense and he shut his eyes in pain, biting his lip as to not cry out.

“Darius!” he heard the priest shout, recognising panic in his tone. He expected the pain to ease, but it did not. He squeezed his side and felt fresh blood run down his hand and between his fingers, soaking into his already bloody suit jacket. 

The curtain on his side of the confessional opened and the bright light coming through the tall windows of the church blinded him for a moment before he realised his hand which has been up until now holding his left side dropped onto his lap as if it had been rid of all of its strength. His eyelids became heavy and his head began to drop. He heard the priest say his name once more before his vision went black.

**

He woke up to the sound of birds chirping outside the window to his right. He opened his eyes and blinked a couple of times to get used to the bright light inside the room. He must have been put there after he lost consciousness in the confessional. 

He wondered whose room it was. It did not smell like hospital rooms usually would, with the faintest smell of jasmine and roses hanging above him. Could it come from a garden, perhaps? He was in a house then, one with a garden. If he was still in the village, then…It would be impossible to tell which house he was in as almost every single one of them consisted of a garden which contained at least one of the flowers he could smell. 

He sighed and turned his head towards the window. The sun was low and the sky bright orange, so it must be the evening already. Has he slept through the entirety of night and day?

“Ah, you're finally awake,” he heard a familiar voice from the other side of the room.

“Father,” Darius said, a smirk appearing on his lips. He turned to face him. “I assume this is the presbytery?”

The Father smiled. “And I assume those men who showed up this morning to ask about the whereabouts of a certain Darius Fortier are your acquaintances?”

Darius's smile faded as soon as the priest spoke and frowned. “So they were here, then.”

“Oh, yes, they were,” the Father placed his hands behind his back and walked towards Darius' bed. “They seemed quite…dedicated to finding you. Do you mind explaining what the reason for your sudden appearance in the village with a bleeding wound is?”

Darius sighed. “They are – were – my business partners of sorts.”

The Father cocked his head to the side. “Do your business partners always shoot at you?”

“These ones did. But it was my fault, I thought I could outplay them, but they were not as dumb as I assumed them to be. So I took the artefact they were buying and fled into the woods.”

“Correct me if I'm wrong in this, but,” the Father seemed to try and formulate his thoughts before continuing, “did they already buy the artefact when you took it?”

Darius turned to him and smirked. “What do you think, Father?”

The Father shook his head and sighed, defeated. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Because you know me well enough to always assume the worst-case scenario is the one which actually happened.”

“Quite,” the Father said and looked at Darius' left side. “The doctor said you were mere moments from bleeding out. It almost seems like a miracle you survived.”

Darius raised one of his eyebrows. “Did the doctor say that?”

“No, I said that,” the priest's eyes narrowed. “You could have died, you know.”

There was a beat of silence between the two men and it almost seemed as if the priest is on the verge of saying something, but he ultimately remained quiet. Darius wished he had the courage to speak to the priest honestly and openly, like he did six months prior. Was it truly that long? He did faintly remember making a promise to the Father to come and visit him soon, but due to some unforeseen circumstances and his own cowardice, his “soon” became a full half a year. 

I should probably apologise, he thought to himself and glanced at the Father. He opened his mouth to speak, but he was immediately interrupted by the Father. 

“I have certain matters to attend to this evening. Dinner will be served at six and brought to you by Mrs Collins,” he said and with that, he turned around and left the room. 

Darius watched the priest's back as he walked away and once he was completely alone again, he closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh.

**

“Father Gilbert,” Mrs Collins said in a hushed whisper as she approached him, “is the man finally up?”

“Yes, he is, Mrs Collins,” the priest smiled warmly and placed a hand on her shoulder. “I do wish you would call him by his name, though. He may be a criminal, but he is not a bad person.”

Ms Collins tsked. “And I wish you would not let him stay at the presbytery. I saw those suspicious characters snooping around the village again.”

“I took Mr Fortier here because he was wounded, and this is the only place I am able to keep an eye on him. I am sure he will not stay long,” the Father's eyes lowered slightly, “it was never a habit of his, after all.”

The Father let his secretary tend to the paperwork as always and retreated to his study. It seemed Darius will need one more night of rest before he is able to get out of bed, so he will spend the night in his study once more. There was the guest bedroom, which was currently unoccupied, but the Father did not want to have too many lights on – the neighbours might get suspicious and it could attract unwanted attention of the “suspicious characters” which are apparently still on the hunt for Darius. 

The Father sat down into an armchair by the window and turned on the small lamp on the parapet. He looked out of the window towards the slowly setting sun. After a moment, his mind began to wander and the memories of the last time he had seen Darius came flooding back.

The Father had not seen Darius for a few weeks at the time as he was apparently in France for yet another business deal he has managed to seal successfully. He returned with a considerable sum of money to his name and a few bottles of the best French wine he could get his hands on. 

So naturally, the evening ended with them drinking two of them while sitting opposite of each other in the Father's study. And Father had known Darius for long enough at that point to be able to tell that spending time with him while under the influence was not the brightest idea, as Darius had a tendency to start a discussion on philosophy, theology, the ridiculousness of the entire concept of Christianity and, of course, the Father's celibacy. 

“It's ridiculous!” Darius exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air in dramatic fashion. 

“You are merely exaggerating,” said Father Gilbert slowly as to not slur his words as they came out. “It is a conscious choice each priest makes for themselves.”

“But don't you ever regret it?”

“There is no reason to regret choosing the Lord's love over earthly pleasures, Darius.”

The criminal snorted and shook his head. “'Earthly pleasures'. Is that what they call love and sex at the seminary?”

“Well, love for God is a highly spiritual matter and it is important to separate it from…other kinds of love,” the Father said, suddenly becoming unsure. 

Darius looked at him through squinted eyes. “You say that as if it did not include you, Father.”

“Of course, it includes me!” The Father said defensively. “I am merely trying to explain the concept as you seem to struggle to grasp it for some reason.”

“Well, I'm not asking for your textbook definitions, Father. If I did, I would visit a library,” Darius rolled his eyes and took a sip of his wine. “It still doesn't make sense to me,” he said after a while, in calmer fashion this time. “Choosing the love of a god who is a mere fragment of our imagination over the love of another human being…It seems like such a waste, don't you think?”

“God may seem like that to you, but He does not seem like that to me,” the Father said, smiling gently, “and I do not feel as if I'm wasting any love,” he leaned forward slightly, “do you?”

Darius' eyes widened as he looked at the Father opposite him. Something in his eyes changed and he looked away. The Father watched him as he stood up and walked towards the small bookshelf by the window. 

“Love,” said Darius quietly, “what a ridiculous concept, is it not?”

The Father did not speak. 

“You priests talk about it so much, yet you condemn it at the same time. It makes me sick.”

“Darius,” the Father said, “what are you talking about?”

He reached into the bookshelf and pulled out Father's copy of the Bible. “Are you familiar with the Book of Leviticus?” he asked as he flipped through the thin pages. 

“Yes, I am.”

Darius smiled as he stopped turning the pages. He placed his finger to one of the lines. “You shall not lie with a male as with a woman; it is an abomination,” Darius looked up from the page and his eyes met the Father's in the dim light of the study, his face hard as stone. “Do you agree, Father?”

Father Gilbert swallowed thickly and felt his face burn but did not look away. “I do not,” he said at last.

Darius' features softened, and he let out a quiet laugh. “Of course, you don't. I apologise, I should not have put you on the spot like that,” he returned the book to its place on the shelf and returned to his armchair. Before he could take a seat, though, he felt a hand wrap around his wrist. He looked up, startled. “Father?”

“Darius, if there is anything you wish to tell me…”

He waved his hand to stop the Father from continuing. “Oh, please, do not. I have already heard my fair share of lectures on sodomy when I was a child, I do not need to hear another.” 

Father Gilbert stood up abruptly and walked towards his writing desk, hands clasped behind his back. When he spoke again, he was still turned away from Darius. “Tell me, why did you bring this matter up so suddenly?”

“Trust me, Father, I did not intend to. It is but another aspect of your beloved church which frustrates me, nothing more.”

The priest finally turned to face him. “Is that so?”

Darius frowned. “Well, what would you like me to say, Father?” he gestured wildly toward nothing in particular like a madman. “Would you like me to admit to you that I am a homosexual? Is that what you want me to say?”

“Well, are you?” the Father asked calmly.

Darius snorted. “Don't be ridiculous. But yes, I have been with men as well as with women many times over the years, engaging in a fair amount of extramarital sex, as well,” he smirked.

The Father nodded but did not speak. He felt Darius' piercing eyes on him and wished he could somehow make himself disappear. 

“Do tell me, Father,” Darius spoke again, his voice low and unusually quiet, “have you ever been tempted?”

Father Gilbert swallowed. “Why do you ask?”

“For the same reason you asked me about whether I am homosexual. I simply wish to even the odds,” Darius then sighed and dragged his finger along the rim of his wine glass. “I know you probably won't admit it, but-.”

“I have, yes,” the Father said quickly, almost in one breath. He saw Darius' eyes widen and felt his face turn red. He began fumbling with some papers he had scattered all over his writing desk in an attempt to hide his shaking hands. 

Darius smiled. “Ah, so even the pure fall prey to the impure. Is that why you separated yourself from the law of celibacy?”

“I have not broken my vows, Darius, if that is what you're trying to suggest,” the Father said, his voice tense. 

Darius raised his hands in defence but did not show any remorse for his remark. It was quite the opposite, it seemed. 

“I do admire you, though, Father. To lead a life of purity while surrounded by so much beauty must be quite exhausting.”

The Father's face remained tense. He was aware of Darius' tendency to tease him any chance he got, especially when it came to discussions about Catholicism. Up until that very moment, he was unaware of the reason behind his distaste for the Church, but it had been finally revealed to him. Still, the Father wished he could change his mind, at least a little bit.

“Allow me to guess,” Darius continued, a devilish smirk playing on his lips, “is the temptation personified in one Mrs Collins?”

“Darius!” Father Gilbert exclaimed as his cheeks flushed bright red. “I do not wish for you to speak of her in this context. She is a married woman!”

“And you are a celibate priest who sometimes suffers at the hands of temptation!” Darius said equally loud, his tone amused. 

The Father took a deep breath before he spoke again. “There is…no reason for me to be tempted by Mrs Collins. Of that I am certain.”

The Father felt Darius' eyes on him, studying him. He was an intelligent man who has spend most of his life among the vilest of criminals in England, watching and learning the meaning of each and every gesture, grimace or tone. Father Gilbert was sure he would find the hidden meaning behind his words sooner or later as well.

“Oh,” he heard Darius say and looked up. The man's eyes were wide in what could only be realisation. Father Gilbert felt his face turn beet red. 

“That…certainly explains a lot,” Darius continued, a speck of laughter in his voice. Father Gilbert frowned in confusion. He watched Darius drink the last drops of his wine before placing the empty glass on a table near him. 

It only took three short steps for him to stand in from of the Father, his eyes hooded with a fog of drunkenness, the faintest smile playing on his lips. If the Father has been as brave as Darius was that night, he would have poured his heart out just to have him stand so close to him for just a little longer. 

“Darius-,” the Father breathed out, but was interrupted by Darius leaning in and kissing him. The Father's eyes widened, and he found he was unable to move. 

The kiss only lasted a couple of seconds and when Darius pulled back, he smiled. “I am deeply sorry, Father. I hope you will forgive me for this.”

“I-.”

Darius raised his hand to stop him. “Please, do not. It is late. I have a number of things I need settled,” he walked to the armchair he had been sitting on just a few minutes prior and retrieved his coat and hat. As he walked towards the door, he put the hat on and turned to face the Father once more. “I shall see you soon.”

As the memory of Darius' departure faded from his mind, the Father found himself sitting in the now dark study with the sun already long below the horizon. He traced his upper and bottom lip with his fingertips absentmindedly, watching a moth circle chaotically around a lamp on his writing desk.

He wondered what the pressing matters Darius spoke of could have been and whether he actually planned on settling them soon. Six months was a long time even for Darius; he was usually the punctual type, as a matter of fact.

A knock on the door alerted him of dinner being served and he took one last look at the moth. After a moment of contemplation, he has decided to leave the lamp switched on. 

**

The following morning was Father Gilbert left to make breakfast for himself as Mrs Collins had left early to prepare the church for that day's mass and “to rid the confessional of Mr Fortier's blood, because we really do not need another visit from the Vatican this month, Father.”

As he began chopping tomatoes and cucumber to eat with his eggs on toast, he heard a faint sound of footsteps behind him. There was no one in the presbytery but him and Darius. He took a deep breath and turned around. 

There, standing in the doorway, was the notorious Darius Fortier. Dressed only in a pale blue pyjama set the Father lent him, his feet bare on the hardwood floor. He must have woken up just a moment before as his eyes were still puffy with sleep and his hair was yet to be combed into their usual sleek style. The grey on his temples was much more visible this way, as well. Father Gilbert remembered that he had pointed them out some time ago. 

“Old age comes after us all, Father, even you and me,” he said that day. 

“Good morning, Father,” Darius said, interrupting his train of thought. 

“Ah, yes, good morning,” the Father smiled and returned to cutting vegetables, “I trust you are feeling better?”

“Yes. Though I do have to admit walking is much more difficult than sitting or lying in a horizontal position,” he said and let out a small chuckle, which brought warmth to the Father's chest. 

He scooped the freshly cut vegetables on a plate and brought it to the small table in the centre of the room along with the still warm eggs on toast. He turned around to return to the counter for the pitcher filled with water and slices of lemon, but he was stopped by Darius' hand on his shoulder. He looked at Darius, blinking. 

“Let me do it,” he said quietly and gave him a small smile. 

The Father nodded and while he let Darius retract his hand, he wished he would have caught it in his, to keep it there for just a little longer. 

They ate their breakfast in relative silence. If the Father did not know Darius as well as he did, he would have tried to start a conversation; there were not many things he hated, but awkward silence was certainly one of them. Yet, silence with Darius was not awkward in any way. 

He has known Darius ever since he could remember. He was not sure whether there was a time he did not have him in his life. And although he was merely two years older than Darius, he had the misfortune of inheriting his father's genes and his hair had begun turning grey at the age of twenty. And even though he did not find himself among men who would call themselves attractive, it never bothered him; God loved all his creatures, even the ones that are not considered beautiful. 

Darius, on the other hand, was very handsome. Father Gilbert remembered the number of girls constantly in his vicinity when they were younger, with Darius enjoying their attention immensely. The Father never imagined Darius would even consider enjoying such affection from men as well, but it seemed his time in France during the Father's studies had an effect on him. Or perhaps Darius was like him and his attraction towards men has always been there, ever since he was a child. 

Father Gilbert never felt ashamed for being a homosexual. He did not believe God despised him for it, either, but he knew many people who would. The things he has heard in the confessional made him sure of that. Along with many men and women in his parish who have confessed their homosexuality to him, some proud and brave, some desperate and tearful. Many have asked him, then, whether they were destined to perdition and the Father would always give them the same answer – perdition was the destiny of sinners and love, by definition, is not considered a sin. 

There were times when he wished he could have confessed this to one of his subjects, to show empathy perhaps, but he never allowed himself to do so. The consequences were too grave. 

“Father,” Darius spoke suddenly, interrupting the Father's stream of thought. He looked up from his half-eaten toast. When their eyes met, Darius' expression changed to one of slight panic.

“I, uh, I was just thinking about the last time we talked,” he said quietly, playing with the condensed water droplets on his glass. “Do you remember what we discussed that night?”  
The Father swallowed thickly. He suddenly became nervous. Still, he managed to nod.

He saw Darius' jaw tighten before he continued. “I wish for us to speak about it.”

An overwhelming need to flee as soon as possible overcame him and he stood up abruptly, his chair screeching against the kitchen floor. Darius stared at him, his brows furrowed in confusion. 

“I am afraid it will have to wait until tonight, Darius,” he said quickly, his voice shaking. He looked at his watch and ran a hand through his hair. “Oh, goodness, Mrs Collins must be just about done with the preparations at the church. You will have to excuse me.”

“Father-.”

The Father gave him an apologetic smile. “I am deeply sorry. We shall see each other tonight.”

And with that, the Father stormed out of the presbytery as if it had suddenly caught on fire. Darius went to stand by the window and watched him cross the street and disappear among the small houses. He sighed and scratched at his head thoughtfully. 

This is going to be much more difficult than I had anticipated, he thought and slowly made his way back into the Father's bedroom.

**

With the Father and Mrs Collins gone from the presbytery, Darius took the opportunity to explore the rest of the relatively small house. He had not been there for six months and he wondered if anything changed. As it turns out, nothing did. 

There were a few books which he had not seen before or a picture frame with a photograph of Mrs Collins and her family. The house was still cluttered, but not messy; there was not a speck of dust or cobweb to be seen. 

Darius has always loved the presbytery, although he never stayed longer than a few hours. He certainly never spent the night there. The Father still asked him each time, knowing full well he would always refuse. Up until now.

Darius had always done petty crimes around the village, back in his younger years – destroying the property of others with his father´s army knife, stealing a penny or two, “borrowing” someone's cat and selling it to suspicious characters at the local market. He never expected for that small hobby of his to transform into his livelihood. When Father Gilbert told him he would be going to the seminary, he had decided to travel to France and fully commit to being a criminal. He thought (or, perhaps, even hoped) the decision would disappoint the Father, but it did not. His reaction was so incredibly him he almost decided not to leave: “I hope you will come visit me from time to time, Darius.”

And so, Darius did. He spent the next thirty-two years building his name amongst the most notorious and famous criminals in the French underworld. He changed his name to Fortier and learned to speak impeccable French so he would not attract too much unwanted attention. And in the middle of all of this, he found time to return to the village a few times a year. He would bring a different present each time, spend a few hours with the Father and then return to France, impatiently counting down the days until he would return again. 

Building a life in France has allowed him to indulge in all sorts of activities, including those that involved several sexual intercourses with various kinds of people. Darius all of this, of course, never revealed to anybody, even the people he had considered friends at the time. Trust was a very fragile thing in the criminal world; it would shatter like glass given enough amount of pressure. And the fact that he indulged in (and enjoyed) sex with men would surely produce enough pressure to achieve that. 

The door to Father Gilbert's study creaked as Darius pushed it open. The morning light coming from the open window highlighted the small specks of dust in the air. It seemed to be the only room in the house where the maid did not have access to. If Darius had not already learned it from the priest himself, he would think the Father was keeping some sort of secret. 

The Father's revelation six months prior was a confession he never expected to hear, especially not from him. He imagined the reason for the Father's celibacy to be his utmost devotion to God (which has, frankly, been there since their youth), but since that night in his study, Darius' opinion changed.

A man such as Father Gilbert – and, perhaps, such as Darius himself – was destined to lead a life of secrecy no matter what their position was or where they chose to live. So instead of a life like that, Father Gilbert chose a life of repression with the hopes that serving God would quench the desire in his heart. And the mere thought made Darius' skin crawl.

But he has expressed this to the Father multiple times in the past, in one of their usual conversations of the matters of Christianity – the love of a god will never be the same as the love of another human being. Representatives of the Church like to take this fact and turn it around to suit their idea of how rewarding and beautiful utmost devotion to God is, but the truth remains the same. 

Still, Darius did consider himself to be pathetic. On the night six months ago, when he became too brave in his drunkenness, and confessed his affection for the Father, he already knew it was over. He has suffered many rejections in the past (as well as many confessions of mutual attraction), but none of them would ever be as painful as this one. Because there was simply no way a person such as Father Gilbert – the kindest, gentlest creature Darius has ever known – would ever return his feelings. He was the closest a man has ever come to being holy and he…he was nothing but the scum society has him for. If there was ever a world where someone like Darius would be loved by someone like Father Gilbert, it was certainly not this one.

Darius retreated back to the Father´s bedroom and crawled back into the bed he has been occupying for two nights now. He stared at the ceiling for a while before letting his eyelids fall shut.

**

When Darius awoke, the sun had already set. A familiar pain in his left side has reappeared and he groaned as he sat up slowly. He reached onto the bedside table and took a small vial made out of darkened glass. He opened the cap and took out one pill, throwing it into the back of his throat and swallowing it without water. And although the pain was milder than the day before, the painkillers were too strong for him to take more than one. 

He waited for a moment until the pill dulled his pain and slowly got out of bed. He wondered if the Father was back from the church already; it would be odd if he stayed there so long, even for him.

Darius walked barefoot through the corridor and into the kitchen. He found Mrs Collins there, her hair in a neat ponytail and an apron, making what seemed like stew by the stove.

“Good evening,” he said. Mrs Collins yelped and turned around quickly, holding her scoop like a weapon. Upon seeing Darius standing in the doorway, she put her hand on her chest.

“For Goodness' sake, you scared me,” she breathed, but her shoulders remained tense.

“I apologise,” Darius attempted a smile. He knew the Father's lovely secretary (and a cook, too, apparently) was never quite fond of him, but he still tried to stay on her good side. Her husband did have many connections in the government who may one day become useful. 

He looked around the empty kitchen. “Father Gilbert has not returned yet?”

Mrs Collins returned her attention to the stew. “No, he stayed at the church to go over a few things.”

Darius could not help but smile fondly. “Are those his exact words?”

Mrs Collins turned to him and smirked. “Of course. But you would know that. How long have you been friends for?”

“All our lives, if I remember correctly. Almost fifty years now,” he sighed at the thought of his fiftieth birthday being only a few months away. He glanced to the window. It seemed that it was fully dark outside.

“I shall go and take a walk, Mrs Collins,” he declared and began walking back towards the bedroom, “if the Father returns before me, please, let him know.”

“Are you certain you wish to go out at this time?” she called after him, sounding more worried than he would ever expect of her. “Those men might still me lurking about.”

He did not answer and smiled to himself as he entered the bedroom. For the last thirty-or-so years he has been known as the master of disguise; he was able to become anyone at any time without putting in much effort. There were many times he had fled a building after a successful robbery, disappeared into an alley as a quite dapper Frenchman and reappeared an old man walking with a cane in a matter of a few minutes.

There were, of course, not many things at the presbytery which could be used to make a disguise. After a few moments of contemplation and trying out the few possibilities, he managed to put together a costume which would successfully hide his appearance. 

After rummaging through Father Gilbert´s closet, he managed to find an old panama hat and a pair of round sunglasses which both suggested they were mere gifts and not something the Father would attempt to wear by his own volition. He then carefully put on the clothes he came to the village in. They were already thoroughly cleaned and there we no signs of blood stains. He chose to leave his suit jacket in the presbytery as the evening was particularly warm that day. Instead, he rolled up the sleeves on his shirt and unbuttoned his collar. Upon inspecting himself in the bathroom mirror, he decided not to shave his two-day stubble – his clean shaved face has become a trademark of his and many people never saw him with any facial hair.

He took one last look into the mirror before walking out into the hallway where he almost collided with Mrs Collins. 

“Who-,” she shrieked and raised her hand to strike him in the face, but Darius quickly took of his sunglasses.

“It is quite alright, Mrs Collins. It's me,” he watched her as she let out a deep breath, amused.

“Please, do not scare me like this again, Mr Fortier, or I might just get a heart attack.”

“Oh, we wouldn't want such a thing to happen, would we?” he grinned and placed his sunglasses back on. “I am going now. I won't be long.”

She waved her hand, dismissing him and began massaging her temple with the other. Darius adjusted his clothes one last time before taking a deep breath and walking out of the presbytery. 

As he found himself standing in the street of the village he grew up in, he could not help but smile. Nostalgia has always been an enemy of his, as each visit reminded him of how much he missed the quiet life he used to lead with his family. There was a part of him – the same one which confessed his feelings for Father Gilbert – that wanted to rent a cottage in the village and lead the same quiet life, but this time with the Father. It has been a naïve dream of his since that night six months ago – leading a comfortable, domestic life with him by his side. 

He began walking towards the church. If Father Gilbert was still at the church like Mrs Collins told him, he would be able to talk to him in privacy of the sacristy. He knew why the Father was so avoidant of the conversation; he knew he was worried he will break Darius´ heart (which he could neither confirm nor deny), but it was ultimately inevitable. Darius simply needed to talk to him as soon as possible.

He successfully managed to walk through the entirety of the village without meeting a single soul. The lights on the streets were already turned on so he was not left in complete darkness by himself. He did not fear the dark as it was, though he did worry his old business partners might show up unexpectedly. 

Soon he found himself standing in front of the tall silhouette of the church, illuminated by the street lights. As expected, it was completely vacant. He entered carefully (even though he managed to walk in without the church collapsing onto him before) and reached into the basin filled with holy water. He did not exactly remember which was the correct way of crossing oneself, but he did give himself the benefit of the doubt as it had been over thirty years since he had done it. 

After he was finished and wiped his fingers into the soft fabric of his trousers, he glanced up and noticed a dark figure kneeling before the altar. A sense of unease filled him for just a short moment before he noticed the figure's neatly combed grey hair. 

Darius felt himself smile and began walking towards him slowly. As he got closer, he recognised a quiet murmur coming from the kneeling priest. He was praying.

“…I do not wish for much, although it might seem like that to you,” the priest said, his voice muffled by his hands which were pressed tightly against his face, “I simply ask for you to give me a sign. I already know I have committed the sin of pride and have been neglecting my thoughts of you in favour of…” Father Gilbert paused for a moment and Darius stopped. He might have a light step from the years he spent sneaking around rich people's houses, but he did not want to risk being discovered too soon. 

“Please, God, know that I have spent years serving you and spreading your message of love and kindness among the people in my parish, so I am begging you,” Darius heard what could have been a sob and he felt painful tightness in his chest, “tell me that this is what I deserve. Tell me that this is what my life has been leading up to and tell me that I am not wrong for wanting this. Please…”

Darius suddenly found himself standing right behind the Father. He wished he could make his presence known to him without potentially frightening him, but he did not know how. His own desperation which he spent six months repressing has become too much to bear. 

“It is me who does not deserve you, Father,” he said softly and as quietly as he could. To his surprise, the Father did not even flinch. Could it be that he was expecting him? Or was his step much heavier than he remembered?

The Father sighed. “Darius.”

He stood up slowly and turned to face him. As he thought, the priest's eyes and cheeks were red and wet from crying. 

“If you think yourself undeserving of my affection, then what am I?” Darius said, tears beginning to form in his eyes.

The Father's eyes widened, and his lips parted slightly, as if he was to say something. Darius decided he would not let him. He has spent six months in preparation for this exact moment; and whether he would come out of it whole or in pieces was up to destiny.

“I imagine you think it was an easy thing to accept, but believe me or not, I questioned it – and myself – for the last six months. I could not understand these feelings or why I feel them towards you, a priest who won't, who cannot give me anything other than friendship,” he tried to fight off tears with a smile, but they still ended up running down his stubbled cheeks. “Which is already too much for me to ask of you and yet you give it to me. Me. A criminal. A thief. A sinner who doesn't even remember how to fucking cross himself,” he let out a lifeless laugh and shook his head. “If I wasn't so goddamn selfish then it would be enough for me.”

Darius could not help but sob quietly, wiping his eyes with his forearm. He did not want to cry, not in front of him. He never cried in front of him, not even when they were kids. And yet, he did not feel humiliated, he did not feel ashamed. He was…what was it he was, exactly?

“You are not the monster you believe yourself to be. Not to me,” the Father spoke after a beat of silence. Darius glanced up at him, blinking. The Father took a step towards him. “You never were and never will be.”

Darius watched him move towards him and felt as if he might collapse soon if he doesn't hold on to something. 

“When you kissed me six months ago and left, I felt scared for a while. I feared what I felt towards you and what it meant, but mostly,” he took a deep breath, “I did not understand why you would find yourself drawn to me.”

Darius frowned, confused. “What…what do you mean by that?”

Father Gilbert smiled and began playing with the loose fabric of his cassock. He almost seemed…shy. “I feel sort of foolish admitting this, but…I could not comprehend why a man such as yourself would want a man like me. Especially after you confessed your relations with other men in France and I figured those men were similar to you in appearance which, well, it made perfect sense to me and it seemed that you would only find yourself interested in men who were attractive and perhaps even slightly older and much more, uh, experienced and…”

Darius' jaw kept dropping increasingly lower as the Father spoke, and he felt his mind go blank. What in the actual Hell…?

“Father,” Darius said, interrupting the priest's monologue. He looked at him, confusion now completely overtaking his entire face. “What are you talking about?”

The Father blushed and stuttered out something Darius did not understand. He stopped fumbling with his cassock for a moment, but then started again. Darius could not help but feel incredibly fond. 

He let out a deep sigh. “I cannot believe this,” he rubbed at his forehead and laughed. He looked up at the Father whose face was still flushed from embarrassment and Darius had to fight a sudden urge to kiss him. Instead, he took one final step towards him which shortened the distance between them so that their chests were almost touching. He slowly raised his hand to touch the priest´s cheek gently. 

“You are the most breathtakingly beautiful man I have ever seen,” he said and began rubbing at his cheek with his thumb. “I have always known I do not deserve you and I will probably always believe so, but…I still wish you would have me, Father, even for the screwed-up man I am.”

The Father did not speak, he simply raised his hand to lay his palm on top of Darius' and it was only the quick look he gave his lips that Darius knew what his answer would be. He met the Father halfway as their lips connected in a gentle kiss. 

He would be a liar if he said he did not think about the kiss they shared in the Father's study constantly for the last six months, but he never once thought it would happen again.   
Darius leaned in to deepen the kiss and wrapped his arms around the Father. He could not remember the last time he had hugged him, certainly not after he had become a priest. He could not help but feel wrong each time he thought of it (why would a man like him hug a man like the Father?), but as he hugged him tightly and felt the Father's hands press into his lower back, the fear slipped away as soon as it appeared. 

As expected, Father Gilbert was a cautious kisser – the inexperience along with the years he had spent repressing every though which would somehow involve physical contact with another man left a mark on him. Yet, Darius felt a certain level of confidence from him as he led the kiss and did not flinch when Darius slipped his tongue into his parted mouth. 

He did not know how long they stood in front of the altar in the dark church, but Darius soon began feeling a sense of discomfort in his left side. Perhaps taking a walk so soon was not such a good idea, after all. He touched the sides of the Father's face and gently broke the kiss. 

The Father opened his eyes, his expression of pure bliss. “Darius?”

He smiled apologetically. “I am very sorry, but my injury is determined to ruin any chance for us to share a romantic moment, it seems.”

“Oh,” the Father said, sobering up immediately, “I completely forgot about that. We shall return to the presbytery at once.”

Darius could not agree more. Without any additional words, the men locked the gate in front of the church and took the shortest walk through the sleeping village towards the presbytery. Darius tried his best not to look at the Father walking next to him too much, even though they were successfully hidden by the shadows of the narrow streets. 

He could not help but feel anxious. A certain part of him hoped – no, yearned – for whatever it was that was going to happen when they arrived to the presbytery to happen, but a different, the anxious part of him kept telling him to flee, to think of the consequences of seducing a celibate priest.

What were the consequences of seducing a celibate priest, he wondered? A sense of shame, perhaps? For what, exactly? Stealing the man of the cloth from the almighty God? What a ridiculous thing. He never believed in the existence of the giant bearded old man everyone feared, yet he was afraid of spiting him. Or perhaps it was the Father himself he was afraid of. He was afraid of dragging him away from something he spent half of his life building, something that mattered to him. And for what? A night of moderately satisfying sex with a man? No temptation, however appealing, was worth such a thing. 

“You are thinking way too loud, Darius,” he heard the Father speak suddenly, startling him slightly. He glanced at him and saw the priest smile at him. “There is no need to be afraid.”

Darius' eye widened in surprise, but a smile slowly formed on his lips. Of course, he thought. Of course, the bastard knew exactly what he was thinking about. Oh, how much he wanted to kiss him again. 

Once they arrived at the presbytery, Mrs Collins was already gone. She left a note informing them she put the pot with hot stew in a bowl with cold water to let it cool off before they were to put it the fridge. Darius was relieved she had left before they arrived, as they were able to avoid a painfully forced conversation which would not help Darius' anxiety in any way. 

Instead, they simply locked the door behind themselves and walked to the bedroom in silence. Darius watched the Father's back as he walked in front of him, the back of his neck just where his hair turned into skin, the small freckle just above his collar. He thought of reaching out and touching it but managed to refrain himself. Instead, he extended his hand towards the Father's cassock (it seemed looser than he remembered, did he lose some weight?) and took the smooth fabric between his fingers, holding onto it gently. The Father did not stop and continued walking towards the bedroom.

Once they entered the room, the Father closed the door behind them and locked it. Darius imagined it was a habit he would need to practice in the future as well. If, of course, there will be any future to speak of. 

Once the Father turned to look at him, Darius finally felt safe enough to reveal the extent of his fear. His knees gave out and he sat down on the edge of the bed. 

“What are we doing, Father?” he spoke quietly, his eyes fixated on his bare feet against the floor.

He felt the bed next to him dip as the Father sat down. Their shoulders and thighs touched and somehow that made Darius feel so much better already. 

“I would marry you if I could, you know,” the Father said, his voice serene. Darius looked up at him, blinking in surprise. “I would have asked you a long time ago, as well. But I have always known that I would not be able to serve God through the sacrament of marriage. Becoming a priest was that much easier. I thought, after you kissed me, that I would not fall for you, that I would choose the life of a priest. I have decided that I will. And yet,” he gave Darius a fond smile and took his hand in his, “I want to lead this life with you by my side. If you'll choose it as well, that is.”

Darius felt tears prickling him in his eyes. How does one know what to respond to such a thing, he wondered? He thought it would be difficult, he was expecting for it to be difficult. And then suddenly, there he was, facing the easiest decision in his entire life. 

“Are you certain?” he managed to ask, his throat tight from crying.

“I have never been more certain of anything in my entire life,” the Father said quietly and leaned in to kiss him. Darius responded immediately, grabbing the Father's face and deepening the kiss. 

When he felt the priest´s hand slip from his cheek to his neck and down to his collarbone, right where he had made the conscious choice to unbutton his shirt, he grabbed the Father's hand. He broke the kiss and pulled away.

“Is something the matter?” the Father asked, his voice unsure. 

“Yes, I,” Darius sighed, fighting back the wave of arousal the mere touch on his neck caused, “are you certain you want this?”

“I already told you, I want to be with you, Darius.”

“I know and I am happy, truly, but,” Darius gave the Father a desperate look, “you do not have to feel an obligation to have sex with me, Father.”

Father Gilbert studied his face for a short moment before he felt a hand caress his hair, sliding down to the back of his neck. Darius' eyes slipped shut involuntarily. 

“Look at you,” the Father murmured, his voice suddenly low, as he leaned in closer, “I love how you pretend that saying it does not excite you in any way.”

Darius' eyes shot open, a familiar heat spreading through his abdomen. 

“Father-.”

“There it is,” the Father grinned and gave Darius a quick kiss. “I would ask you to call me by my Christian name when in private, but I do have to admit that you calling me Father excites me as well.”

Darius' mouth dropped open. “You dirty old man!” he exclaimed. 

The Father frowned. “I am two years older than you!”

Darius snorted and shook his head. “You are being ridiculous, Father.”

Father Gilbert smiled and leaned in once again, kissing Darius deeply. He placed his hand on Darius' chest and began fumbling with the small buttons. Darius broke the kiss and moved his lips to the Father's neck. When he heard the priest's quiet moan, it shifted his attention to the tightness in his trousers. When he saw the number of buttons on the Father's cassock, he almost groaned in frustration. 

He pulled away to the priest's quiet groan in protest and stood up. “Trust me, Father, that I would not want anything more than to undress you myself, but I will unfortunately have to ask to remove your clothes right this moment.”

The Father blinked a few times before standing up as well, facing Darius. Without a word, he reached up to his neck to remove his collar and began unbuttoning his cassock. Darius swallowed thickly before his untucked his shirt and pulled it over his head. He saw the Father' eyes turn dark and the tightness in his trousers increased. 

It only took a short moment for them to be undressed, standing in front of each other in nothing but their underwear. Darius' eyes travelled down the Father's body, though pale from being hidden most of the time, but still rather muscular and toned. 

The Father must have felt his gaze on him and rubbed his arm in what seemed like embarrassment and Darius felt his heart swell. It was almost ridiculous how much he loved this man.

He stepped towards him and raised his hands to the Father's arms. He leaned closer to him and gave him a small kiss. 

“Do you trust me?” he asked.

The Father nodded, though there was still a sign of uncertainty in his face.

Darius smiled. “I want us to lie down on the bed first. Is that alright with you?”

The Father nodded again, and let Darius push him towards the bed. The Father scooted up the mattress to offer room for Darius and they lied down quietly, side by side, arms around one another, legs entangled. Soon, Darius felt his skin adjust to the feeling of the Father against him and he let himself relax. For a moment, there was silence. 

“Talk to me, James,” Darius spoke at last. He did not refer to the Father by his Christian name ever since he became a priest, not even in private. He never questioned or wondered why, though it was possibly a result of his fear of being exposed in a way. He feared the way the Father´s name slipped from his lips might reveal his true and desperately hidden feelings for him. 

Father Gilbert took a deep breath and nodded, his forehead bumping into the Darius' temple. Darius felt the Father's hands on his hips. “I want you, Darius. I want you so much I can hardly stand it.” His voice seemed almost strained, as if he was holding back much more than he showed on the surface. That thought in itself sent blood into Darius´ already uncomfortably hard erection. 

“That makes two of us,” Darius whispered and smiled when he heard James chuckle. 

“We do not have to do anything you don't feel comfortable doing, James,” Darius continued, “It is enough for me to be this close to you. Enough for the rest of my life.”

James lifted himself slowly and leaned over Darius, resting his hand on the mattress next to Darius' head. His eyes were dark and without a single drop of doubt. 

“I want to do everything with you,” he breathed, composing himself. Darius swallowed.

“That,” Darius licked his lips, “I can certainly oblige.”

James smiled and leaned down to kiss Darius deeply. Darius' hands immediately buried in the Father's hair, grey but not yet showing signs of balding (unlike Darius himself) and began gently scratching James' scalp, massaging it gently, then tugging at his hair. After Darius pulled at the Father's hair with more force, he felt James shiver and a wave of vibrations found their way into Darius' mouth. 

James interrupted the kiss to let the full force of his moan out and closed his eyes, leaning against Darius' touch, seeking more. Darius made use of the opportunity and rolled his hips upwards (Careful, he told himself), dragging his erection against James' own. Darius almost felt his head spin at the feeling of James' hardness against him. He felt big, much bigger than him, of that he was certain. God, how could you keep such a thing to yourself? he caught himself thinking and almost laughed. 

Instead, he kissed James again. He opened his mouth as an invitation for James to slip his tongue in anytime he felt comfortable to do so and to his surprise, James did so almost immediately. At the first touch of their tongues it was Darius' turn to moan. He rocked his hips against James, desperately trying to acquire any kind of friction, any kind of release. 

He tried his best to be slow, to be patient, to offer James as much time as he required to become more confident, but it has been too long, even for his standards. He craved the sweet feeling of release, the white-hot rush of sensation which builds in his abdomen and makes his limbs go numb, his mouth hanging open, making him whine in a higher tone than he is even willing to admit. 

Darius could not even imagine what James looked like when he orgasmed. He never even had a chance to ask him whether he knew how it felt, whether he ever even tried to find out. As James kissed him again, he could not stop his mind from wandering. 

Did he ever touch himself? In this exact bed, in the darkness of the night, with the curtains drawn shut so that no one would see him? Did he cover his mouth with his hand, did he bite into a piece of his clothing to stop himself from crying out as he worked his hand from the bottom of his shaft, to the top? Did he-?

Darius heard James moan loudly and it immediately brought his mind back to the present. He looked up at the priest hovering above him, his mouth hanging open as he continuously rubbed his still clothed erection against Darius' own. He looked down at where they touched, and his mouth immediately began watering at the sight. 

James' cock, red and swollen, whose tip was peaking out from the underwear was already leaking slightly. Darius' underwear was ruined with his own fluids and he could feel James trembling as he ran his hands along his sides. He could not help but think James was close to orgasm.

“James,” Darius breathed out and James closed his eyes. “Are you-?”

“Yes,” James groaned and dragged his cock against Darius again, his entire body shaking profusely. Darius watched droplets of sweat form on the priest's forehead, his grey hair sticking to his skin. 

A part of him wanted to stop James, tell him to hold it in for just a little bit longer, until Darius prepared himself for him, but a different part of him knew that this is what James needed. He needed to feel the first release. If he has never done this in his entire life, Darius had to give it to him. It might take a little longer for James to come back from it afterwards, but Darius was willing to wait for him.

He knew he wanted to feel James inside him from the moment they kissed for the first time six months ago. He though about it for the entirety of their time apart, unashamedly touching himself almost every night, imagining what James' cock must feel like when inside of him and he was finally so close to finding out. 

Darius felt his own cock harden at the thought and James must have felt it too as he let out a loud moan and shut his eyes tightly.

“Darius,” he whispered, “Darius, Darius, please, oh G-.”

Darius ran his tongue along his lower lip and lifted his hips to meet James halfway, letting out a quiet moan himself. He could climax just like this, he knew he could, but in the years he has spent engaging in sexual acts with both men and women (and anyone in between) he had developed a rather high stamina level and unlike James, who had been celibate his entire life, could control himself pretty well.

Not that any of that mattered now. Darius has never felt more turned on in his entire life and it was just from watching James cross the threshold by himself, rubbing against Darius rabidly, chasing the release as if not doing so would bring him death. 

“Let go, James,” Darius said, surprised at how hoarse his voice sounded. “Let go for me.”

James let out a low moan and let himself drop to his elbows as he orgasmed, warm semen covering Darius' stomach. He knew he had to wipe it soon unless he wanted to deal with having to painfully rid himself of his chest hair. But for now, he let James breathe, his mouth just above Darius' and he could not stop himself from dragging James down for a kiss.   
James returned the kiss but broke it just as his shaking limbs gave out and he let himself fall on his side, next to Darius. 

“Goodness,” he heard James murmur and one corner of Darius' mouth curled smugly.

“I take it you found that enjoyable,” Darius said and finally rid himself of his underwear. His cock was painfully erect, but he ignored it for the time being as he wiped James' semen off his chest and stomach. 

Once he was finished, he turned his attention to James once again. He was lying on his side still, watching him. His expression was strangely apologetic.

“I am sorry if it was not as exciting for you.”

Darius let out a quiet laugh and reached out to pat James' hip. “Do not be ridiculous, Father. I enjoyed it immensely. You should know I do have a strange interest in watching other people orgasm. Especially if it for the first time.”

A flush spread across James' face and he cleared his throat. “Darius, you should probably, uh, know that this wasn't my first time, uh, orgasming.”

Darius let his head drop down on James' shoulder. His words came out slightly slurred. “I knew it. God, this is embarrassing.”

He felt James' fingers in his hair, scratching his scalp lightly. “I have…participated in masturbation before. Celibacy generally does not allow any type of sexual activity, but it is very difficult to ensure masturbation doesn't happen and I have, let's say, tried it a couple of times.”

Darius still did not raise his head. “When?”

James' hand in Darius' hair stopped. “Pardon?”

Darius lifted his head, locking his eyes with James. “Did you try it before or after I kissed you six months ago?”

The blush on James' face spread down to his chest and he looked away, embarrassed. Darius lifted himself up, throwing his leg over James' chest and seating himself on his stomach. He leaned in and kissed James hard before his yelp of surprise could even leave his throat. 

“You thought about me,” Darius murmured in between kisses, as he dragged his lips along James' cheek, his jaw, down his neck. He was very careful as to not leave any visible marks, though the temptation was certainly there.

“Darius,” James sighed and planted his hands on Darius' thighs, squeezing. 

“Tell me,” Darius almost begged and moaned into James' mouth as he kissed him again. 

“Yes,” James whispered, “I thought about you.” 

Darius could feel his still soft cock against the cleft of his buttocks and moaned again. His own cock was still erect, demanding attention. Darius did not want anything more than for James to touch him, to do it by hand if that was what he was comfortable with, but he knew that was not what he wanted, what he needed-.

“I only did it at night, so I was sure there would be no one who could catch me,” James continued, quietly. His hands moved down Darius' back towards his cheeks, rubbing them lightly.

“Oh God,” Darius whispered, and his hips jerked forward, rubbing his cock against James' stomach. 

“I imagined you in so many ways. Sitting on me just like this, looking down on me with those wide eyes of yours, touching yourself, pleasuring yourself while I watched you,” James suddenly squeezed Darius' cheeks hard and Darius moaned, rocking into James' stomach. 

“I liked you most when you were under me, though,” James said, and as if to underline what he meant, he grabbed Darius tightly around the waist and flipped them, careful as to not disturb Darius' injury. 

Darius let out a surprised sound which quickly turned into a moan when James leaned down to lick Darius' nipple. 

“Oh, God, James, please, I need-,” Darius whimpered, wrapping his legs around James, digging his heels into his lower back. 

“Tell me, Darius,” James whispered, dragging his teeth lightly over his nipple. “I will give you everything.”

Darius exhaled shakily. “I…I need you inside me. Right now.”

James' head shot up, his eyebrows almost disappearing in his hairline. “Are you certain?”

Darius laughed quietly. “Oh, I am very much certain. This is not my first time taking someone else's cock, you know.”

James swallowed. “Yes, I understand that, but I…I sort of imagined you would not wish to be on the receiving end.”

Darius took James' head into his hands and dragged him down for a small kiss. “I very much wish to be on the receiving end. In fact, I enjoy it a lot. But we do not need to do it this way if you don't want to.”

James shook his head, dragging his fingertips along Darius' jaw. “I already told you I want to do everything with you. I want to try everything.”

“Alright, then,” Darius smiled and kissed James on the corner of his mouth. “I promise you that I will certainly provide your asshole with my cock in the future, if you ever wish so.”  
James let out an embarrassed laugh. “You are being ridiculous, Mr Fortier.”

Darius raised his eyebrow. “Perhaps there is something in your possession that could shut me up?”

James lifted himself up slightly and looked down at their cocks, trapped comfortably between their stomachs. Darius' was still unbearably erect, leaking profusely. James' was, on the other hand, still on the softer side. Though, as Darius felt, their conversation had made it twitch in interest a couple of times.

“I am not sure whether I am ready yet, Darius,” James said apologetically. 

“That is quite alright,” Darius said and kissed James reassuringly. “I still need time to prepare for you, especially since you are so big.”

James raised one of his eyebrows. “Am I now?”

Darius shrugged. “Bigger than I am used to, at least. Do you have any oil? Something that won't irritate my skin?”

“So if I was smaller, it would be easier for you?” James asked, already standing up and walking towards his cabinets at the other end of his bedroom. “Will petroleum jelly suffice?”

“Yes, that is enough,” Darius nodded and changed his position slightly to be more comfortable. Over the years he found he preferred to lie on his stomach while being fucked, but it was not possible due to his current circumstances. He almost completely forgot about his injury though and he did not feel any pain. He was almost prepared to thank God for that, but he was not that thankful. 

He placed a pillow under his lower back, which he had learned helped with penetration. And with James' cock he will certainly need a lot of help. 

Darius looked to the side and saw James walking back to the bed and could not help but let his eyes wander his body. He reached out towards him.

“Come here.”

James smiled and climbed back on the bed, wedging himself in between Darius' spread legs. The weight on top of Darius felt good, comforting almost, and provided some much-needed contact for his painfully hard erection. 

“You still have to answer my question,” James said, opening the small container of petroleum jelly and placing it next to Darius' head on the mattress. 

“What question?” Darius tilted his head curiously and sighed when James moved up slightly, his slowly hardening cock brushing against his. 

“If I was smaller, would it be easier for you?” James repeated patiently. “Fucking you, I mean.”

“Oh God,” Darius breathed out and he felt his dick twitch. He never heard James curse, not even when they were young. He was a gentle and kind being who always considered profanity a sin (Darius still could not believe that man reciprocated his feelings) and Darius respected it enough to limit the use of curse words in front of him, but not enough to stop using them completely. To hear James swear so openly, without any hesitation made his skin turn hot. 

Darius felt James' eyes on him and swallowed. “It would not. Not tonight, at least. I have not…No one has touched me in that way for months. Ever since that night in your study. I did not want,” Darius exhaled shakily, “I could not let anyone touch me.”

James smiled tenderly and planted a kiss on Darius' lips. It was not a passionate kiss, the kind they exchanged only mere minutes ago; it was sweet and gentle, and full of love. Love Darius still did not deserve.

“Tell me what to do, Darius,” James said, slowly moving down Darius' body, placing small kisses on his nipple, his ribs, his bandages, while still maintaining eye contact, “I want to do it right, the way you like it.”

Darius nodded and spread his legs further apart. He took the petroleum jelly and pushed it in James' palm. “I need to loosen up. Do one finger at a time.”

“How many will you need?” James asked as he greased up his fingers.

“Three should be enough,” Darius said and took a deep breath. The moment he felt James' finger push inside him, he exhaled. He was tense, he knew he was. He did not ever remember being as nervous before sex as he was right in that moment.

“You need to relax, Darius,” James murmured.

Darius clenched around his finger. “I know. I'm sorry, I-.”

“Do not apologise,” James interrupted him quietly and placed a small kiss on his inner thigh. “Will taking you into my mouth help?”

Darius felt more pre ejaculate ooze out of his cock and his mouth dropped open as he let out a quiet whine. 

“Darius,” James said as if to bring him back. 

“Yes, oh God, yes, it will,” Darius cried out and let his head hit the mattress. 

He did not dare watch as James shifted his position and leaned down. His finger remained inside Darius as he took his cock with his other hand and slipped the tip into his mouth.

“Oh fuck,” Darius moaned, and his hands immediately found their way to James' head, burying his fingers into his mess of a hair. As he felt James sink lower on his shaft, he closed his eyes and finally allowed himself to relax. 

He imagined he ought to be on guard for James accidentally dragging his teeth on the sensitive skin of his cock, but in the years he had spent in Paris, he gained experience in all kinds of bed play. It was one specific night with a very skilled dominatrix that helped him realise he did not mind pain that much during sex. 

After what felt like hours, he finally gathered enough courage to open his eyes and look down on James. His head was bobbing slowly up and down on Darius' cock, saliva dripping down from his mouth. He was humming softly, and the vibrations from his throat felt delicious on his cock. 

He felt James retract his finger and fumble with the container of petroleum jelly before pushing two fingers inside him. 

Darius' eyes slipped shut once again and he moaned quietly. He heard a wet pop as James took Darius' cock out of his mouth. 

“Is this alright?” he asked, his voice rough. 

Darius nodded. “Yes, it's, uh, it's good. Try,” he licked his lips,” try curling your fingers upwards a little bit. It's, uh, my prostate gland. The stimulation feels good.”

Darius barely finished his sentence before James did as Darius told him and Darius almost cried out at the sensation. His hips shot upwards and before he knew it, James' mouth was once again around him. 

“James, fuck, oh God,” Darius moaned and fought the urge to thrust upwards into his mouth. He did not know whether James would find that enjoyable or not and he certainly did not need to have him throw up during their first night together. He has many experiences with young men and women who had terrible gag reflexes and – almost literally – took a bigger bite than they could realistically chew. 

James' mouth suddenly left Darius' cock once again and Darius was about to protest, but then he felt James' fingers against his prostate once again and moaned. 

“I think,” James licked his swollen lips, “I think I can take in all of you. Without gagging.”

Darius blinked. “Are you certain?”

“Yes.”

“Then I assure you I will most certainly come once you do so.”

James frowned. “And you do not want that because…?”

“Because I want to come with your cock inside me, James,” Darius said conversationally, but it definitely had the desired effect on James. The priest nodded and slipped his fingers out of Darius, covering them in more petroleum jelly before pushing in three fingers now. 

“Fuck,” Darius exhaled and dropped his head onto the mattress once again. He closed his eyes and tried to relax his muscles more, relishing in the sensation of James' fingers inside him. He did not take him in his mouth again and Darius was almost glad he didn't; he was certain he would have come too soon. Though he would still have James fuck him – overstimulation was a small price to pay to have James' cock finally inside him. But they will have enough time for experiments in the future. Especially the exploration of James' non-existent gag reflex. 

“James,” Darius breathed out and grabbed him by the arm, “I think I am ready.”

“Are you certain?” James asked and flexed his fingers inside him a little bit more. 

“Yes, I am. I need it, please, fuck,” Darius' erection was fully painful now, the muscles in his limbs throbbing, his skin slick with sweat. He was sure he was not fully ready yet, but he was growing impatient and it has been so long, way too long. 

James took his fingers out and covered his now fully hard cock with a generous amount of petroleum jelly. Darius advised him to do the same with his hole as well, just in case. He wanted to make sure there was not any friction of any kind. 

“Are you ready?” James asked and when Darius nodded, James slowly guided his cock into Darius' hole. 

“Fuck,” James murmured and bit his lower lip as the tip of his cock breached Darius' entrance. “It's still so tight, are you certain you are not in pain?”

“Take it slow,” Darius said in between breaths, “I am not in pain, I just need to get used to it again. I am alright,” and as a way to show that he really meant it, Darius wrapped his arms around James' neck and pulled him down for a deep kiss. He could taste his own pre ejaculate on James' lips and he thought he might come just from that. 

Eventually, after what felt like hours, James pushed inside him fully. Darius felt the warm press of James' testicles against his buttocks and hummed contently. 

“Christ, Darius,” James moaned and buried his face in Darius' neck. “I don't think I am going to last for long like this.”

“That is quite alright,” Darius whispered and rolled his hips against James, which earned him a low moan from the priest, “I did tell you I wanted to come with you inside me, didn't I?”

“Are you that close?” James asked, his voice muffled. 

“Very much so,” Darius placed a small kiss on James' temple. “Try to move. I will let you know when I am about to come.”

He felt James nod and he began rocking slowly inside him; they were small movements, without James' cock ever leaving his body, but with enough force to have Darius dig his fingers into the soft muscle of James' buttocks. 

He could barely hear his own quiet moans over the loud pounding in his head, his vision foggy. With each thrust he felt his orgasm build in his gut, warmth spreading through his limbs. 

“Darius,” he heard James whisper into his neck, kissing him there softly. “I don't think I will last.”

“It is alright, you can come inside me,” Darius breathed and let his eyes slip shut. The smooth, slick movement of James's cock inside him was even more overwhelming than he imagined, his shaft rubbing against his prostate gently, but enough to make him dizzy. 

“Fuck,” James groaned and thrusted into Darius with more force. Darius could not stop the loud moan from escaping his throat. “You first,” James said through gritted teeth and continued to push inside him, the bed creaking with each thrust. 

Darius opened his eyes and felt a tear run down the side of his face, mixing with sweat and soaking into the mess of his hair. Soon, he began losing any sense of time or place, all he felt and knew was James's body on top of him, his cock thrusting into him rapidly. 

“James, I'm-,” he began once he felt the familiar tug in his abdomen, and then he was coming, warm sperm covering his stomach. He must have gotten lost in the afterglow as he did not even realise James had come as well and was now laying on top of him, his slowly softening cock still inside him. 

For a short moment, there was silence. Darius was running his fingertips against the smooth skin on James's back and listened to the quiet sound of the Father's breathing. He almost began feeling anxiety creeping back into his mind before the Father spoke. His voice was strained and exhausted, but still gentle, just like it had always been, so matter the circumstances. 

“Back at the church, when you demanded to be put inside the confessional,” the Father said.

“Hm? What about it?” Darius asked, nudging his chin against the top of James' head.

“What did you want to confess?”

Darius smiled, but realised James could not see it, so he breathed out of his nose in a small attempt to indicate his feelings. “I wanted to confess a lie, actually.”

“Which one?”

“Oh, charming, Father,” Darius rolled his eyes, but felt James body shake against his in suppressed laughter.

“No, tell me,” James said once his laughter ceased, “what kind of lie?”

“Back then, when I kissed you six months ago, I told you I would be back soon. As it turns out, that was not the case.”

James did not say anything and slowly raised himself onto his elbows and locked eyes with Darius. “That is not something you should feel guilty about, you know.”

Darius frowned. “Why not? I did tell a lie. Six months is not 'soon'.”

“I am aware of that, thank you,” James sighed and moved his hand up to bury his fingers into Darius' hair. “But I know you, as well. I almost expected for you to come back in a year, so six months is truly not that bad.”

Darius groaned and closed his eyes. “How the hell is that supposed to make me feel better?”

James laughed quietly and Darius opened his eyes right when he leaned down and placed a small kiss on his lips. 

“I love you, do you know that?” James whispered and Darius felt his insides shift. 

“And I love you,” Darius smiled and wrapped his arms around the other man's neck, dragging him down for another kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading my original story! I realise the ending could have been more drawn out, but I sort of left some space for a continuation (morning after? shared breakfast? contemplation of their future together? the unavoidable awkward conversation with Mrs Collins?)
> 
> If you enjoyed this, please leave me kudos or some comments, both are always appreciated. Especially since this is the first time I'm sharing my original work.


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